


Aventus

by regim0n_z



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Gen, mention of child death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regim0n_z/pseuds/regim0n_z
Summary: There's a boy in Windhelm that's robbing graves. Ysyn investigates.
Kudos: 3





	Aventus

Ysyn didn't like children. 

There were few children in the miserable city of Windhelm, but they existed there nonetheless. Under stone pillars, begging on the streets. Hidden away in the bars she paid patronage. She avoided them, she didn't speak to them. She didn't want to be anywhere near them. That they were required to be coddled and shielded from the violence in this city's cold streets was more than an annoyance to her, and more so when they got in the way, or ran to her for help. She would not help them. She liked to pretend they didn't exist. 

And no one else did she like to avoid more than the nanny of the Cruel-Sea brat, who singled her for conversation so often, for some infuriating reason. Though, it was difficult to avoid her when they both frequented the same alchemy stall, and they were neighbors. Day to day, Ysyn would find herself in the misfortune of the nanny's presence. 

This insufferable elf would go on, and on, and on about the responsibilities of caring for the Cruel-Sea child. Unprovoked. And Ysyn never got a word in. More personal information than she could ever have wanted on this child was cemented into her head despite her best efforts to ignore it all. Always attaching herself to Ysyn's side at the first site of her, interrupting transactions, important duties, she didn't care. Waving at her while strolling through the stone corridor of their neighborhood with the child holding her hand. Encouraging the child to wave too, with its unnerving blank stare. Unending sing-song calls of the name "neighbooooour," and Grimvar did this, Grimvar likes that. Only stopping to turn the conversation on her when the question arises, "Will you have children of your own?" Maddening! 

To the point Ysyn would find herself lying awake thinking about children at night. Awake, because the frolicking and giggling-type of children plaguing her dreams set her into a murderous kind of mood. She just knew in the depths of her soul that that stupid little urchin she was forced to hear so much about was going to fall on the wrong side of her blade one day. 

But one frigid evening when the nanny approached the same alchemy stall Ysyn patroned, and Ysyn was already fortifying her mental to focus on anything but the incoming jabbering... a difference could be felt from the nanny immediately. 

Today, she was eerily quiet, with a pleading, worried look. Like she was in dire need of permission to speak. Ysyn looked her over once with suspicion, as the nanny bored seriousness and anxiety back at her. 

Finally, but not before setting her jaw in defeat, Ysyn asked bleakly, "Did something happen to the child?" 

"Oh, no. Neighbor!" the nanny exclaimed with all of her dramatics. "What I have to tell you you'd hardly believe!" 

"Is that so?" 

"Truthfully!" 

"Let me hear it then," Ysyn grunted out. Already feeling exasperated. The stand runner had disappeared into the shop behind with her order. He could not possibly take a second longer. 

"I tell you, you won't! In truth!" the nanny cried, then with a nervous glance over her shoulder hunched closer to Ysyn, and spoke in more hushed tones. 

"There's an orphan boy from the Gray Quarter that's around Grimvar's age. He's snuck in to live in his family's home, abandoned since the death of them... But don't let the guards hear any of this!" 

Ysyn nodded, and nodded. To get this story on. A full number of shoppers crowded around the stall, distracted and not listening, but the runner still didn't show. 

"This Aventus, he's a troubled child. See, I knew his mother before she passed. Quite a tragedy. She-" 

"What happened to the boy?" Ysyn interrupted. 

"See, That's it!" she whispered with excitement. "The boy, I… saw him the other night. In a place that he shouldn't have been." 

"And that is…" 

"The graves! Near the temple. Oh, it was a terrible thing." 

Ysyn lifted an eyebrow at this. 

"That poor girl from the inn that was murdered recently… It was the dead of night. I was returning home and heard the strange sound of grinding wood beyond the temple. When I took a look, I saw that boy Aventus! And he was fishing around inside the dead girl's casket. And when he was finished he… he…" 

"What did he do," Ysyn snarled, now growing frustrated with the theatrics. Frustrated she had let the nanny even start. 

"He… removed the insides of the girl," she cried in the smallest voice she could manage. "Held it in his bare hands. I watched that monster carry it off into the night!" 

Ysyn turned in on herself then, mouth twisting into thoughtful frown as she imagined all this. Truly, it was difficult to picture a child doing all this, much less than a man who was incredibly derived doing the same thing. The insides? Of the dead girl? If this boy was connected to the recent murders in any way, it would certainly have to be looked into. 

"Oh, to know he was troubled is one thing, but defacing the dead… He should be seen to face the Jarl! What in the world could he be doing this for? Necromancy? And Grimvar is always asking to play with the boy. I tell him no, of course. But then he always asks me why. What am I supposed to say!" 

"You're not wrong. These crimes should be punished," Ysyn added . But it was only to settle the frantic mer, who looked to Ysyn with wide, haunted eyes. Pleading. Despite telling her all this, it was obvious the nanny didn't want to be attached to the situation at all, herself. Ysyn took a breath before speaking again. "What do you supposed I do, then?" 

"I suppose you report his actions to the guards. Although, they might not handle this situation with the delicacy it requires. Say, if they were to storm his house, alert him, he could so easily slip away under their notice. He is a child…! But, you, on the other hand…" 

And the nanny gave Ysyn a look over, one that said, in all the time their conversations never subjected her in any context besides the question of baring children, she knew well the kind of work Ysyn was up to. 

If it wasn't so obvious. The exposed dagger was strapped to the front of her leg, glistening in the gray light. Showing anyone close enough just how swiftly it could be used. 

"You could very discreetly handle the boy. Couldn't you? At the very least, expose his practices to the Jarl and allow him do what he sees fit." 

Ysyn thought on it for a moment, but then her mouth twisted into a agitated smirk. She could stand taunt the mer just a little more. "I can see why you’d ask me personally. Although, you know I don't handle children as well as you." 

"Oh please, please neighbor. Please, for Grimvar. You know how sensitive he is. This? So soon after his sister's death…? I could never allow this to affect him." 

The mer threw herself into Ysyn and she had to hold her hands up to brush her away. Anxious suddenly, Ysyn's eyes flew around the market place. People were starting to stare. "I understand, I understand," she admitted in defeat. "Poor, poor Grimvar never has to hear of this boy again. It's handled." 

"Oh, oh..." The nanny started, searching for words. " Oh, neighbor! Thank you!" 

The annoying mer served as a thankful reminder, at the very least, that even the nosiest of Wildhelm residents didn't have a title or name to connect her to. After she was finished with business here, moving on from this city would be easy. 

As she pushed her way through market-goers Ysyn was starting to think she was sick of Windhelm. 

She would get in, learn about the kid or, kill the kid, and… Maybe find a more miserable corner of Skyrim to hole up in. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere cold. 

Ysyn didn't like children. Because she was a child once herself. She didn’t like it then, and she wouldn't fondly remember it now. Most days, she preferred not to think she ever was a child. That she'd been this astute and in control her entire existence. 

They made her sick. So she didn't look them in the eyes. She wouldn't let them acknowledge her, or treat her like a peer. That, in a nonsensical kind of way, made her feel those uncomfortable feelings that were buried underneath the sound construction of her present self. A simple interaction would trigger it. She liked to avoid it best. 

So she didn't like that she had dealings with one now. 

But astute or not, she was still of a culture that said the murder of children was immoral. She had done it before, of course. In the heat of a battle. Not her proudest moment. But not one that would keep her up at night. More of a discomfort that sat with her when she was in villages similar enough looking to the one where that battle took place. 

So an execution wouldn't be so dissimilar, right? One in a dusty old home like this one? She could surely avoid these types of residences for a while. Avoid Windhelm altogether. 

And here she was intruding on the Arentino residence, from a worn down opening under the kitchen foundation. Every step she took across the old oaken floors creaked below her in warning. One particularly large rat she didn't see in the darkness narrowly avoided being crushed from her footfalls, and Ysyn was pulled from her thoughts momentarily to scold herself on her lack of awareness. A light dimly flickered from underneath a doorway leading deeper into the home so she stalked up to it, pressed it open carefully, and fit her way through the crevice in hopes of not making a sound. More rats scurried around her as she passed through the entrance, though thankfully none of them made any noises to draw attention to herself. 

Although, a sound--a voice!-- was already coming from inside that would drown out any mishaps she might've made. A single candle was all that lit the wide room from a distant corner, and cascaded shadows every which way. But the first thing Ysyn recorded upon entering, was the rancid scent of rotting flesh. Powerful and unexpected. 

Ysyn fought the urge to lurch over and heave, constricting her muscles to stay dead still. Still, she couldn't stop a hand from snapping up to shield her senses from the stench. Where was it? Where was it coming from? Her eyes darted around her surroundings, searching. But she didn't have to for long, when the obvious answer was the figure at the center of the room. Hunched over something she couldn't see. 

The figure reeled back suddenly, holding a dagger high in the air above its head, and thrust down with a broken shout. It started attacking whatever it had placed before itself in frantic movements, between coughs and gasps and cries of frustration. The cries of a child. 

Ysyn watched the display with all the silence she could muster. The boy slowed in his movements, coming down in weaker stabs over longer intervals. Until he almost completely slumped forward. Tired himself out, likely, yet the dagger was still firmly in his grasp. His voice dropped significantly from the shriek that it was before. And he commenced chanting. 

"…mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me… For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear…" 

Broken up with more hoarse coughs. He only continued the chant after that, following with more weakened stab motions. 

"Sweet mother, sweet mother… send your… child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and… fear." 

He repeated again. And a third time, a fourth time. He continued the chant for as long as Ysyn watched on patiently, waiting for a break. A crack. He continued. And continued. And she was slowly coming to the uncomfortable realization that he might never stop. 

Then now was the time to act. But the same heaviness that weighed on her consciousness since she entered this broken down home was now weighing her feet to the floor. Her dagger didn't find its way into her hand so thoughtlessly like it did in a battle. It didn't find its way into her hand at all.  
Instead, her logical mind began to slowly push herself on. The part of her that said so many times to renounce fear, move forward. Accomplish your goal. It will be over with soon. 

With her vision fixated on the shadow she knew was the boy, slowly, through the dark, one foot picked itself up after the other, sliding gently forward against the oaken floor. The hand clasped at her mouth slowly lowered itself, carefully, stayed outstretched in the air before her. The dagger found its way into her hand eventually. Another step forwards. No sound from the wood. And the boy before her continued on in his broken chanting without any indication. 

But when her foot fell next, it wasn’t pressed precisely into wood like she expected, but into the soft body of a rat, which brazenly squealed as it was crushed, and caused Ysyn to fall back on her feet clumsily, it a way that did cause the oak to creak under her. The rat scurried away quickly, and before she could grate out a curse under her breath, she was met with the wide, darkened, startled eyes of a young Nord boy. 

In her discovery Ysyn's whole body tensed. Usually, this would be the instance in which she would go in for a hurried kill, before they could say or do anything first. But the reaction didn't come. Somehow. Instead she and the child just stood in rigid silence of each other. 

He was just staring her back. No shock or fear. Plainly looking between her face and the dagger in her grasp. She was probably the one that looked frightened! Humiliating! 

Finally, he spoke. It was in the regular conversational voice of a child. "You're from the Dark Brotherhood, aren't you?" 

His eyes lit up with something she didn't recognize. 

Ysyn absorbed the question, still frozen, still astounded and not knowing what her next action should be. It asked her a question, what should she do? Respond? Lie? Should she kill it quickly? It was watching her now… expecting her movements… 

"No," she traded back eventually. Honestly. Her hands had found their way to her sides again. Deciding the optimal moment to strike had passed. She couldn't when those eyes were staring her down. Those big, disturbing eyes. 

Something twisted in his expression, and he responded with a delayed, "…Oh? Are you… sure?" 

Ysyn finally took a step out of her paralysis, jutting closer. The boy fell back a hair. And she demanded in all seriousness. "What business does a child have with the Dark Brotherhood?" Spoken with the authority of someone more versed with the Brotherhood, than knowing of them by name only. But her intimidation seemed to work, because she watched the boy crumble before her. 

"I-I-I…" he started, eyes falling to the floor. Finally off of her. Ysyn took this opportunity to tighten her weapon's grip once again, preparing for a strike. But slightly curious, she delayed a few seconds to allow the boy to speak. 

He coiled in on himself, releasing a few pathetic cries that Ysyn was anxious to watch. "P-please, I've been waiting... so, so long," the child stuttered out. “I’ve prayed and prayed… The Dark Brotherhood won’t come to accept my contract…”

The boy silenced and withered out into an even cry before her. He was completely vulnerable now. Ysyn shifted the hilt of her blade uncomfortably in her fingers. She couldn’t kill something this pathetic.

She couldn’t kill it. But for some reason, she felt trapped. She wanted to escape this house, but her feet stayed planted. She just wanted it to stop crying.

“A child in need of an assassin, hmm,” She wondered aloud. Pretending to answer her own question. There was no change in the boy’s sunken figure, so instead she tried again. “I might happen to be an assassin. I might. Although from which organization I hail from, that knowledge is a secret.”

Now the boy peaked up from its cries. Swollen eyes, tears, snot, all glistening on his features from the pale candlelight. He had a sudden look of wonder through it all. “You are…” his small voice started.

And then he was lurched forward and grabbing at the ends of her coat, pulling her closer with his blood cloaked and rot smelling hands. He cried out between bursts of, “you came! you came!”, Ysyn weaseled herself free from those disgusting little hands with all the willpower of not using the blade to remove them. “Stop… stop it.” She spat out. “Off.”

He would eventually settle his hands off. And yet perhaps the boys excitement was equally as miserable as his weeping. Tears continued streaming as his bloodied hands clenched and unclenched themselves, continuing his little tirade of, “I knew it! I knew you would come! I’ve been praying for so long!”

“Settle,” Ysyn demanded astutely, and the boy made an attempt before her, but struggled still to keep his hands at his sides. “Tell me of the contract.”

“Yes, yes… of course,” the boy said between sniffles. “Where to begin… Ooh… it’s been so very long...”

“Quickly.”

“I…! It’s my… My mother, she died. I’m all alone now... So they sent me to that horrible orphanage in Riften...!”

Ysyn observed with a slight crease in her brow. What she really listening to this child’s plea?

“The headmistress is cruel. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she’s not kind. She’s evil!”

“You would have the caretaker of an orphanage eliminated?” Ysyn quarried. “Is that not so cruel an intention itself?”

“No!” he shouted. “Someone like Grelod doesn’t deserve to live. She’s a monster, she’s terrible. To all of us! That’s why I ran away, and came home. That’s why I performed the Black Sacrament. So you can kill Grelod the Kind!”

He gave the plea for murder with the merriment of a child that was gifted a sweet roll. Ysyn paused to review this strange information, as the boy still waited for her response with bated anticipation. 

“You’ll be thoroughly compensated. I promise! I’ve already prepared something for when you get back…”

And now Ysyn was given an option. Hear this child out and fulfill his contract. Just like she would any other client. Or kill the child and flee the city. She kept looking over the boy in soiled clothing, over and over. She didn’t want to kill the child. In truth, she pitied him. Just enough to perhaps give him the resolution he desired.

“So be it,” she finally said, and the Arentino boy’s eyes lit in pure elation. 

A barrage of more crying and touching was incoming, she recognized, so Ysyn made a strict display to deter it before the chance came. She didn’t want any more gore on her clothing. She could hardly stand the stench of the house for another second. Nor did she have any good reason to stay in Windhelm another night. Into the black of the night she fled the Arentino residence, only returning to her own homestay to retrieve the absolute necessities. 

Ysyn was on the first cart out of Eastmarch that night. No more Stormcloaks, no more intrusive nannies with Nord children on their arm and all the other undesirable aspects Windhelm entailed. Perhaps she was not off to a quieter or colder corner of Skyrim, but certainly a different one. For now.

At least two other travelers on that cart comment on how corpse-like Ysyn smelled from afar. They all attempted to keep their distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Not really edited. Just felt like posting something short. :)


End file.
